Page 47 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Okay,” she finally whispered. “I mean—that’s okay. I—I’ll see you at my break.”

I nodded at her, trying to keep the crazy out of my eyes as I did so, and then I watched her walk away.

Two long hours later, after I’d filled my table with random food orders so they wouldn’t kick me out, she was finally sitting in front of me, her fingers tapping the table softly, her gaze darting around the room like it was hard for her to look at me.

Anastasia’s cheeks were slightly pink from hustling around all night, and her hair was in the same tight bun she’d been wearing at school. Pieces of her hair had fallen out, though, and my fingers itched to touch them and smooth them away from her face. I would have preferred that she sit next to me—but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“So what’s your angle here, Mr. James?” she asked, cocking her head as she finally gave me her full attention.

“My angle?”

“You’re sponsoring the Company. You gave us tickets to a game. Why would you do that?”

I was finding more things out about her every day that I was attracted to, but up close...her features were spellbinding. I was having a little trouble concentrating.

Camden James, pull yourself together.

I lifted an eyebrow again. “I believe that I already gave you that answer the last time you let me talk to you.”

She flushed and I grinned. I loved how responsive she was. It was impossible for her to hide from me how she was feeling. I was going to take every advantage I could get.

“So, you’re making a donation...because of me?” There was a heartbreaking edge to her tone, like the idea of that was completely out of the realm of possibility.

I leaned over the table, wishing I was closer to her, wishing I could touch her.

“Of course. I already told you how your dancing made me feel. Like I was dying and desperate and changing as I watched you because I’d never known beauty like that could actually exist.” Her face softened as I spoke, her eyes growing suspiciously shiny, like she was trying not to cry.

“You can’t say things like that,” she argued, her fingers fumbling with the napkin in front of her.

“Why not?”

“Because—because it can’t possibly be true!”

“Why can’t it?”

“You’re being difficult,” she growled, reminding me of a kitten again, trying to be fierce but looking cute instead.

“It seems like you may not have had a lot of people you can trust in your life,” I said softly, unable to stop myself from finally taking a chance and reaching out to touch her hand.

My dick hardened in my lap, and I scooted closer to the table—needing to make sure that she didn’t see.

Not sure I’d have an adequate explanation for that.

“I haven’t had any to trust,” she muttered under her breath, before squeezing her eyes closed like she couldn’t believe she’d said that out loud.

My gut tightened at her admission. It made me feel absolutely feral thinking about her being alone all this time. I was more than happy to step up, though, and be the first person to fill that role.

“Maybe it’s time to let someone in then,” I suggested, pushing my luck by trailing my fingers across her smooth skin. Her eyes flew open, and I lost my breath for a second, staring into the twin pools of blue.

“Why should it be you?” she finally whispered.

The words hung in the air, and a thousand different things flew through my head. I wanted to tell her I was going to change her life. I wanted to tell her that I would take care of her forever...that she’d never be unhappy again as long as she gave me a chance.

I wanted to tell her she didn’t have a choice.

I leaned in instead, unable to stop myself from brushing my lips across hers in a kiss that only fed the fire of the longing throbbing through my veins. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

Pulling away, she seemed like she’d literally lost her breath, as she stared at me wide-eyed. I held in my smirk. “Breathe, little dancer,” I urged, and she let out a long exhale, her blue gaze still locked on mine like she was afraid I’d disappear if she looked away.

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